Hungry Hungry Hippo
As I lay in my canvas wall tent inside the heart of Zambia's Luangwa Valley, I could hardly believe where I was: this remote, wild stretch of heaven on Earth overrun with an incredible array of wildlife. By my side was Wighardt, my long-time friend from South Africa, and beyond the tent's flimsy walls, the silhouettes of massive elephants moved like ghosts against the African sky. One immense bull elephant rummaged for pods in the Sausage tree next to me, so close I could hear the intricate workings of his insides—a wondrous reminder of how vulnerable and yet alive we were in this untamed place.
This adventure embarked under the experienced hand of Darren Chowles, a Professional Hunter whose reputation was as solid as the Merkel 470 Nitro Express double rifle slung over my shoulder. The rifle, with its modern RMR red dot sight, represented a bridge between the traditional hunting ways of old and the modern precision of today. Hunting with such a piece it felt like carrying history itself.
Tracking hippos was the challenge we had set for ourselves. And while these colossal creatures appeared ubiquitous in the murky waters and mud wallows of the region, the hunt was tough. My trackers, Nelson and Noah, native Zambians as skilled in the craft as they were attuned to the land, led us silently along the riverbank. Our everyday experiences with wildlife were spectacular, yet elusive were the opportunities to get within the optimal range for the Merkel—100 yards or less was the aim, a range that required stealth, precision, and more than a little good fortune.
The hippos, despite their abundance, were jittery. At the slightest whisper of human presence, they'd scatter or submerge, their bulbous frames deceptively agile below the water's surface. But perhaps more harrowing than the hippos was the presence of elephants. Towering, intelligent, and unpredictable, the elephants commanded respect and constant awareness. We stalked the water's edge with hearts both ablaze with excitement and heavy with the palpable dangers looming amidst the papyrus reeds.
Days passed in which the cycle of tracking, waiting, and sometimes losing sight became routine. Tensions rose and tiredness crept into our limbs, but the hunt was more than physical strain—it was a test of mental fortitude.
Then, one fervent mid-morning, as the sun blazed down and cast glimmering ripples across the river, Noah's keen eyes spotted our prize: a robust bull hippo partly submerged in an eddy downstream, a distance from the herd. Darren signaled us to take cover behind a tangle of combretum bushes as the immense creature lumbered about, occasionally gracing us with a view.
We waited. Patience was as critical as any shot I might take with the Merkel.
And finally, the hippo provided a clear shot, stepping up from the deep embrace of the river onto the bank. Darren nodded, his eyes mirroring my intense focus. Slowly, I shouldered the rifle, my practiced aim aligning the red dot sight between the eyes.
The rumble of his breath rippled through the air as I took a deep, steadying breath of my own, my finger poised. And with the quietude of the valley wrapped around us, I squeezed the trigger.
It was over in moments. The report of the Merkel roared, echoing down the valley, louder than the grunts of hippos or the chatter of Queleas above. When the dust settled, and the thunder of the gunshot dimmed into silence, we approached the bull. There lay a magnificent creature, one that commanded respect even in death. We took a moment, as hunters often do, to pay our respects
After the intense culmination of our hunt, we faced the practical and essential aspect of what to do with the colossal hippo now lying before us. The animal was both a trophy and a source of sustenance, with no part to go to waste. With careful hands and tradition as our guide, we decided to make sjamboks from its hide—a practical memento from the journey—a sturdy riding crop that would endure as a token of respect toward the magnificent creature.
Accomplishing this, however, meant confronting the immediate challenge: retrieving the hippo. This duty fell to our courageous trackers, Noah and Nelson, who had the dangerous task crossing the crocodile-infested waters. Their bravery hardly faltered as they waded with caution, each step carefully measured to avoid alerting the watchful predators lurking beneath the surface.
By some mixture of skill and fortune, they made it to the far bank without incident. It was now a matter of guiding the fallen hippo across the river. Using ropes, they managed to secure the hippo and, with slow and steady maneuvers, they nudged the giant body into the water, floating it like a massive, somber buoy toward our side of the river.
As the hippo neared the bank, those of us on dry land lent our strength. The Land Cruiser's engine growled as it worked in tandem with our muscle power, the ropes pulling taut, until at last the hippo's body was safely ashore. It was a triumph of teamwork and raw effort, a moment that saw everyone at camp, from the most experienced hunter to the novice staffer, contributing their part.
The dressing of the animal was conducted with ceremonial reverence and practical efficiency, with Darren overseeing the meticulous process. The meat, rich in protein, was carefully portioned to provide for the families of our camp staff's village—a gesture of sharing in the hunt's success. It was a poignant reminder that our expedition was not just an isolated event but part of a larger community's economy and ritual.
That evening, the camp was alive with an air of celebration and gratitude. Our skilled cooks, who had been preparing dishes from the region throughout our stay with deft hands, now outdid themselves with a special meal—hippo stir fry. The rich, gamey meat was transformed with local spices, herbs, and vegetables into a dish that was vibrant with flavors and surprisingly tender.
Dining under the vast African sky, sharing in a communal feast, we couldn't help but feel a deep connection to the land and its traditions. The meal was more than nourishing; it was a communion with the wild heartbeat of Zambia—a full-circle moment that cemented our adventure as one of profound respect cultural immersion, and an enduring bond among all who had shared in the hunt.
